A Love Named
by FalconWind
Summary: A young lady goes to see her unusual lover on the eve of battle. Very unique fic! Please try it! ROTK. AU. Read & Review please! Revised and Updated with bonus scene.
1. A Love Named

Disclaimer: Loraeyn belongs to me. Everything else belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Now digitally remastered in text-o-colour, deluxe widescreen format! But seriously, I got burned by my lack of LotR knowledge, so I had to go back and clean this story up a little.

I felt that some of the critism was simply for the sake of protesting my story. Stop grasping at straws, people. Just read it and enjoy. There are enough people out there who cry foul everytime they see the ending to RotK.

SPECIAL EDITION DIRECTOR'S CUT

A Love Named...

by FalconWind

The room was dark, lit only faintly by the unnatural emerald glow that surrounded the fortress and a single lantern. It was within this setting that a once great man sat unmoving on his black throne. He was deep in thought, deathly still and quiet, his hands, sheathed in their wicked gauntlets, stood interlaced before him.

The door to the chamber opened without preamble, and a fair lady stepped through its wrought iron doorway.

"My Lord, what troubles you?" the young lady asked, her voice as pure and wondrous as the sky.

There was a brief pause in the reply. "Nothing. Merely the calm before the storm."

The woman stood respectfully distant, her head bowed submissively. "You march on Minas Tirith." It was not a question.

An answer was supplied. "Yes."

"My Lord, I implore you," she said, suddenly, "do not go."

"It is not your place to choose what commands I obey. Nor is it even my own," the Witchking said forcefully.

The woman only became more insistent. "My Lord, do not go to Minas Tirith."

The Witchking stood to his full, menacing height, towering over the young lady. "Silence!"

"I will not!"

The Witchking of Angmar reached for the woman's throat, but stopped just short. "You try my patience, Loraeyn."

The stunningly beautiful woman remained, unwavering. "You will die,"

At this, the Nazgul was silent. He turned to look out the window. "Foolishness."

"It is not," she said with conviction. "I have felt your death."

"I am already dead, Loraeyn."

"I have felt your destruction! Witchking, you will not survive this battle! You will not return."

The Witchking of Angmar looked at the woman who would try his patience and live. She spoke of his destruction. Her face was hard with determination, but her eyes were full of desperation. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, until her face broke, and tears began to fall.

"You will not come back to me," she said, sadly.

The Witchking approached the woman. "You do not know for certain."

"I DO know for certain," she said throwing her arms around him. "I feel it in my heart. My heart which tells me our love is true, and that your death will come."

"I am already dead," he repeated.

"Not to I! Your love for me is the life which you still have!"

The Witchking held the sobbing woman with wicked claws that would tear a man to shreds. Yet he brushed away her hair from her face without inflicting so much as a scratch upon her perfect skin.

"Loraeyn, do not despair."

"How can I not?" she asked, pressing her face harder against his chest, her tears wetting the black cloth of his robe.

"I will return," he reassured her. "After the this deed is done, I shall return to you, as I always do."

Her sobs subsided, but did not vanish.

He held her with both hands, and looked into her wet eyes. "Loraeyn, I swear to you, by all that is left of my honour, I will return. I love you with all that is left of my heart, and not even Sauron himself could hope to stop me."

She smiled, almost sadly. "But you do not fight Sauron. You fight not even men, but the spirit of men."

"They will fall."

"You said yourself, that Sauron could not stop you from returning. They too know this power," she insisted.

The Ringwraith bent over and kissed the woman slowly. "But they do not know ours."

She smiled radiantly, looking deeply, into the dark hood. "Please be careful, my love."

"You would tell a Nazgul to be careful?" he asked, amused.

"No. But I would tell my husband."

He managed a chuckle. "My love, you are irresistible."

"Then why resist?" she said, directing them to the bed which lay close-by.

"Why', indeed." He said, as they lay on the soft, opulent bed. He removed his crown.

"Sshhhh," was her reply. And Loraeyn blew out the lantern.

And when the Orc armies finally laid in tatters, the Land of Mordor burned with it's own hell fire. And all men throughout Middle Earth celebrated the fall of Sauron, and his evil minions. Yet among the many who grieved their loss, one woman wept for a love named the Witchking of Angmar.

The End

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A/N: I usually don't publish my romantic stories, mainly because most people think they're really weird (like, in a bad way). I am a hopeless romantic, and I think the Nazgul are very cool. The idea that love can bridge insurmountable gaps is so very appealing in a pessimistic world. And if I were a Ringwraith, I'd sure as hell appreciate a woman who could love me for who I am, despite what I am.

PLEASE, PLEASE review!!! I want to know if I should post more romance.


	2. Deleted Scene

A Love Named...

Deleted Scene

by Falconwind

A/N: Set in the movieverse.

The Witchking rose from behind the fallen beast, the blood drained thickly onto the tattered grass.

The warrior of Rohan stood his ground, defiantly, shield and sword raised and ready. _Brave for a man so slight,_ thought the Ringwraith. _Or very foolish._ He lifted the huge spiked flail that was his weapon, and saw fear flash in the eyes of the warrior.

But he protected his king, trapped beneath his steed, and did not flee, even in the face of his own death.

The warrior would not get a second chance, as the Nazgul struck out, his flail arcing through the air and landing a hair's breadth away from the frantic warrior. The flair moved easily with the Witchking, his strength directing it in deadly swipes.

The deadly game of cat and mouse continued for far longer than the Witchking had expected. _He is nimble, if nothing else._ Finally, he connected with a blow to the man's shield arm, the flimsy wood splintering like nothing.

Approaching triumphantly, the Ringwraith reveled in the man's fear. _The fear of death... the fear of I._ He grasps his neck in his hand and lifts the defeated warrior off the ground. "Fool... No man can kill me... die now."

A war cry from behind was poor warning for the Witchking. A blade pierced the back of his knee, and he fell to them, the man escaping from his grasp.

The warrior stood before him, and pulled off his helm. The golden hair of an angel fell to her shoulders. _A woman... a very beautiful woman._ "I am no man!"

_She reminds me of Loraeyn,_ he thought absently. He watched as the woman lifted her sword, it's tip aimed for the dark pit that was his face. _Oh, Loraeyn... how I miss you already._ The woman's face contorted, the scream of death she sang was silent. The world was silent, holding its breath. _I never meant to break my promise._ The blade surged towards his vision. _Please forgive me, Loraeyn._

The blade seemed to enter his trapped soul, the cold steel ripping a hole in the magic that held him together. His body trembled and writhed, he felt no pain, but did. The pain of failure, the pain of loss. He felt Loraeyn's anguish. With his last ounce of strength he tried to look to the mountains. "I'm sorry."

Then darkness took him.


End file.
